


All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

by garden of succulents (staranise)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, LGBTQ Allies, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7606312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranise/pseuds/garden%20of%20succulents
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a summer where Eric kept his mouth shut, Coach Bittle takes some steps to reach out to his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Manner of Things Shall Be Well

Coach brought a bag of late peaches north with him.  Bitty–Eric–Dicky–he wasn’t sure _who_ he was with his father there–put them on the kitchen counter to ripen.

“Lot cleaner than I was expectin’, honestly,” Coach said, looking around the Haus kitchen.  "I mean, I’ve seen team houses before. It’s a bit surprising not to see empty kegs used in the architecture.“

“We bring them back and get the deposit,” he replied, wiping the table with a cloth.  He’d dealt with his father coming up by stress-cleaning, up to and including hauling the rusted ugly bedframe out of the back yard and setting it next to the garbage by the curb, though Dex was pretty sure they’d have to take it to the dump themselves.

“Well aren’t you clever,” Coach told him.

The conversation lagged there.  He’d already asked how the conference in Boston was going– _Good, good, it’s all good._  Coach had asked how he felt about the game tonight– _Good, you know, little nervous, but looking forward to it._  His mama– _Good, misses you, sends her love._  Jack– _Good, looking forward to the season to start._  Weather– _Good._  Traffic– _Good._

“Well,” he said.  "I’d better be getting to Faber.“

“Yup,” Coach said, and grabbed the hockey bag off the kitchen floor, ignoring his son’s protests.  This necessitated a quick text to Jack as they set out; Coach visiting was in itself an imposition, but he’d thought he’d be able to shake his father on the pretext of pre-game warmups and see Jack for a few minutes beforehand.  It kept him quiet as they walked north down Frat Row together.

“Had a good speaker today,” Coach said.  He was looking around at the houses as they walked by: Phi sisters sunning, cheerleaders reading under their tree, football players laying on their porch swing and talking.  "About team cultures, about building a strong sense of community.  A lot about being proactive in setting the tone.“

“Uh-huh,” he said, studiously keeping his face blank when Jack texted back a heart as they rounded the corner.  Faber rose in sight, just above the tops of the houses on this street.   _Proactive_ was Coach’s favourite sports word; you could butter a rock in proactivity and he’d eat it.   _Gotta get in front of the problem_ , he liked that one a lot too.

“So as I’m sittin’ there listenin’ to him,” Coach continued, his hands jammed deep in his pockets, “about, you know, the kinds of things coaches listen to and don’t say anything about.  And, y'know, the assumptions people tend to make.  It occurs to me that I never said.”  He cleared his throat.  

It made his son look up at him.  "Yes, Coach?“ he prodded.

“Well, I just,” Coach said.  He was looking down at the ground in front of him, his steps dragging slow.  "I love you, you know that.  And I’m proud of you.  And I want you to know that there’s nothing that you could do or–be, that would ever change that.“

He stopped walking and looked back at his father.  "I love you too,” he said noncommittally.

“And your mama, she loves you too.  A lot.  We are so proud of you.”

It was hard to know what to say so he managed, “Thank you.”

“So, Di–Eric.  I just wanted to say.  Maybe if up here at Samwell you found out you, maybe–had a special interest, or if you–were maybe gay, or, bisexual–”  Coach flushed suddenly, brilliantly scarlet, the word _bi-sex-u-al_ coming off his tongue the Southernest thing he’d ever said, “that’d be okay.”

Eric– _Eric_ –stared at his father, heart hammering in his chest.  "Do you–do you mean that?“

Coach met his eyes, looking a little mortified, but he nodded.

Suddenly, messily, without warning or prevention, Eric burst into tears.   _"Oh–”_ he said, putting a hand up to his face, he wasn’t sure what to do–cover his mouth, hide his eyes, cool his cheeks–but in flailing around his arms found his father, who had stepped forward to wrap him into a hug.  "Oh,“ he said again, gulping hard.

"Hush, you,” Coach said, briskly rubbing circles in his back.  "It’s all right.  Don’t you worry.“

As he clutched Coach’s back and tried to get his breathing under control, Ransom and Holster passed by on the far sidewalk.  They made faces of concern at him, and hand-signals that probably meant, _You got this, bro?_ and _Should we rescue you?_  Eric made a face and gestured to shoo them along.  Then he sniffed and reluctantly let his father go.

"Should I be, uh,” Coach said, as Eric reached down to dig for the tissue pack in his hockey bag, “drawing any meaning in particular here?”

He blew his nose and said, in a very small voice, “I’m gay.”

Coach nodded, hands on his hips like he was about to direct a play.  "Got a boyfriend?“

Eric looked down at the tissue.  "Uh.  Yes, sir.”

“Two-timing on him with Jack there?”

That got a watery laugh out of Eric.  "Nosir.  It, yeah.  It is Jack.“

Coach nodded again, a few times.  "Good.  That’s good.”  He looked at Eric again with a little smile, then reached out to give his shoulder a friendly shake, get the two of them facing toward Faber again.  As they crossed the bridge, he slung an arm across Eric’s shoulders.  "There’s nothing else, is there?“ he asked suddenly.  "You’re not on drugs?  Haven’t been arrested?”

“No, uh, no, sir,” Eric said, smiling despite himself and dabbing at his eyes carefully with a corner of the tissue.  "That’s… my one big secret.  I play hockey, I bake pies, and… I’m dating him.“  His mouth twisted a little, an involuntary grimace.  "We’re not public about it right now.  We’re just… trying to see how this thing goes.”  Then, “Oh!  He’ll be there tonight.  He was gonna meet me at Faber.  There’s, uh… you could see him a little, before I have to go in to skate?”

“May be,” Coach agreed.  After a minute he said, “Now, I feel brave for saying all that.  Feels like just five minutes ago you were all,” he assumed an imitation of a teenage whine, “‘Why’s everyone gotta think I’m gay?  It doesn’t mean you’re gay just because you figure skate, I hate how everybody makes that assumption about me.’”

“Aw, Daddy,” Eric protested, laughing, and tried to squirm out of the arm Coach had around his shoulders.  "You cannot be throwing things I said when I was fifteen in my face like that.“

"I’m just saying!” Coach said, magnanimously letting Eric out of his headlock.  "It left us a little confused on how to proceed, that’s all.“

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] All Manner of Things Shall Be Well](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8029441) by [PhagePods (DancingDragon42)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingDragon42/pseuds/PhagePods)




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